


French

by Testanon



Category: The Outer Worlds (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Gender neutral captain, How many tags am I allowed to add, Hydration is important, Insert caffeine to continue, Oops, POV Second Person, Space Coffee, Swearsies, Talk it out, The author does too, The captain is SHOOK y'all, everyone loves Parvati, oh shit oh shit oh fuck, run captain run, spoilers for the empty man quest, tacos (mention), tfw you have made a terrible mistake, the Captain has ADHD, the old college try, what we have here is a failure to communicate
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-01-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22130422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Testanon/pseuds/Testanon
Summary: You can fucking read French.
Relationships: Maximillian DeSoto/Reader, The Captain & Maximillian DeSoto, The Captain/Maximillian DeSoto
Comments: 56
Kudos: 150





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second ever fanfiction, and I wrote the first chapter in one sitting with no beta. 😅 I'm not normally a fiction writer but I couldn't get this idea out of my head 😁

You could, in fact, fucking read French. Well enough, anyhow. You'd minored in it in college and even spent a year abroad. That was well over a...well over _eight_ decades ago now, but you could still pick out the gist of the journal. You could probably even knock out a rough translation if you had a couple of Focusitol and some time to sit down and clear out the cobwebs from that neglected portion of your brain.

When you delivered the book to the Vicar, his reaction threw you completely. Torn between surprise, incredulity and the sudden need to choke back a laugh at the mechanic's expressions of utter horror, you genuinely forgot in the moment to say anything about your knowledge of French. By the time Max finished his rant and offered to join your crew, your brain had caught up but it was too late to go back.

What were you supposed to do? You'd been unfrozen for three days and found only a single potential ally. Two if you count the dubious, disheveled "scientist." Three if you count the equally dubious disembodied spaceship voice. You trusted neither of them yet.

Hell, you didn't even trust yourself. You weren't entirely sure you weren't stuck in some kind of simulation, or otherwise merely having a really awful, really intense dream. They'd told you not to eat within 36 hours of hibernation, but you figured they'd built in some kind of margin of error.

Perhaps you had made a terrible mistake. Perhaps you had failed to seriously consider the grave consequences of not letting the last taco in your fridge go to waste. They had warned you, after all. Repeatedly, and in bold. 

Max cleared his throat.

Your attention snapped back to the present, and you realized Max was still waiting for an answer about traveling with you in search of a translator. You considered. Parvati seemed competent, intelligent and...nice...but a dude with a shotgun? Who could hack computers? And provide spiritual counseling, whatever that meant here in the future? You absolutely needed this guy on your crew, and for perfectly legitimate reasons. You definitely didn't take into account that he was also real easy on the eyes. Definitely.

You said yes.

* * *

Your first bite from a Raptidon instantly absolved you of the notion of being in a dream. Max patched you up. You should have told him then.

* * *

The more you got to know Max over the course of your travels together, the guiltier you began to feel about your secret foreign language skills. You really should have told him. However, not only could you not find a good way to broach the subject, but you also weren't entirely sure how he would react. The man had...anger issues...and you weren't keen on potentially becoming the focus of his rage. 

Granted, who didn't have issues in this late-stage capitalist hellscape? You certainly had your share.

* * *

Despite his intractible annoyance with most of the other crewmembers, Max took time to sit down and listen to you. You slowly confided in him about the Hope and shared stories of your life back on Earth. (You left out your time in France, but waxed poetic about the taco and other food from home.)

In turn, Max explained his religion and filled you in on the last 70 years of Halcyon history (at least the OSI's version.) Neither of you seemed to ever run out of questions for the other, and you spent evening after evening talking with him. Without meaning to, you began to grow close to one another. You should have told him.

* * *

The first time he ended up in your bed, you should have told him. Or the second time. The third time? But his presence made you inexplicably happy, and your presence seemed to make him happy (such a rare sight on him), and you had so, so, SO few good things going for you. You can't bring yourself to ruin this. Whatever this is. You can't.

* * *

The facts are these: He lied to you. He lied to you, and now he's going to kill Chaney, because you lied to him.

It doesn't matter that your lie was by omission, or even by accident (at least at first.) Max is going to kill Chaney all the way dead, but first he's going to make him suffer. A lot. Chaney's not a good person, but he doesn't deserve this. No one does. 

Max doesn't give a fuck that Chaney already told him about the hermit, that he finally has a solid lead to translate the journal. He's absolutely fucking incandescent that his time was wasted, that he was misled. That it's going to take who knows how long to get the book into a form he can understand. You've seen him rage before, but never quite like this.

It's frankly fucking terrifying, but you can't live with this on your conscience. You try to get between them. You fail. You try to pull him away. Not a chance.

"MAX! FUCKING STOP, NOW!" you scream, as he begins to pummel Chaney.

Max doesn't even look away as he snarls, "Give me one good reason I should."

You take a deep breath. "Because I can fucking read French."

Max goes still. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oops, I wrote a second chapter. I apologize if my French is not perfect. The Captain's French probably isn't either tbh.

Maintaining a vise-like grip on Chaney, Max slowly turned to face you, bloodied fist frozen mid-swing. His victim, still clinging to consciousness, gaped at you. Chaney's sole non-blackened eye bulged. You now had both their full attention.

"You. What." Max spat out. His words were low, quiet, and chillingly calm. You're not sure what you expected when you made the sudden decision to stop him. But his delivery is somehow so much worse than anything you could have imagined. So. Much. Worse.

Max's eyes narrowed and his stare became cold and hard. Was that an actual vein throbbing on his forehead, or were you imagining it? Panicked, you wracked your brain for a suitable response with which to deescalate the situation.

You quickly stammered, "Français, tu vicaire complètement fou! Je peux lire cette merde. Je suis vraiment désolé!" ["French, you completely insane vicar. I can read that shit. I'm really sorry!"]

And then you turned and ran like your life depended on it.

In all fairness, it probably did.

After a beat, Max dropped Chaney unceremoniously to the ground like a sack of tobaccorn and began to pursue you with all haste.

* * *

Long ago in a previous life, a dog trainer had once told you that the surest way to get a dog to come when called wasn't to chase it down. It was to show the animal something it wanted and run in the opposite direction. This was similar, you mused as you booked it back towards your ship. Except this dog was over 6 feet tall and also probably going to murder you dead.

You had a head start, but not a comfortable one. Although you had a little over a decade on Max, running had never been your preferred method of entertainment. And he had much longer legs. You prayed you could make it back to the Unreliable and lock the door behind you before he could catch up.

* * *

ALMOST. THERE. Finally. The ship's ramp, straight ahead. You huffed and you puffed and you pressed on, fueled by desperation and fear. Succumbing to blunt trauma had not been on today's agenda.

Your lungs hurt. Your legs hurt. Your head hurt. Your heart... That hurt most of all.

As always when returning from a ground mission, Max was right behind you.

* * *

You smoked it up the ramp and screamed for ADA to close the hatch. Under the (until very recently) extremely reasonable assumption that your unspoken implication was "after all crew members running full-tilt for the ship are safely aboard," ADA readily complied.

Well, fuck. New plan.

You turned and high-tailed it towards your quarters and...barreled straight into Parvati. Unable to check his momentum, the vicar thenceforth barreled straight into you, taking you both out.

Carefully picking herself up off the floor, Parvati looked between your expression of abject terror and Max's twisted face of homicidal fury. Both of you were panting hard and covered in sweat, but Max alone was _covered in fresh blood._ Under normal circumstances, any one of you would do a first pass with the Unreliable's outdoor shower before tracking viscera onto the ship. Watching Parvati, you thought you could see something unimaginable click in her head.

In a voice that barely registered, Parvati asked shakily, "W-what... is going on here?" She'd been shocked to her core to discover that the good Vicar she'd known for most of her adult life was hiding so much anger and contempt from the townsfolk. But it was a whole new level of world-shattering to see his unpent rage unleashed at someone she knew well. Let alone their captain.

"We. Need. To. Talk," seethed Max, glowering at you.

You suddenly wished you'd just stayed put and let him kill you. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess this is a thing now??

You were like 85% sure he wouldn't fuck up your face right in front of Parvati. He'd trekked all over the system with the two of you just to gather supplies for her date. You could have taken Ellie or Felix along instead, but Max had unexpectedly called dibs on Operation Matchmaker. Though he proceeded to grumble throughout, you slowly pieced together that he felt somewhat responsible for helping keep the kid from Edgewater safe.

One evening, he privately confided apropos of nothing that "it wouldn't hurt to inject a little happiness into Ms. Holcomb's life." And at long last, when the two of you snuck down together to spy a bit on Parvati and Junlei in the kitchen, he'd unabashedly turned and _beamed_ at you. Later that night, you finally stopped making eyes at each other across the room and celebrated a job well done by making out on his bed.

So. At the very least, you could reasonably expect that Max was unlikely to want Parvati to witness him beat you to a pulp. Surely you could agree on that, if nothing else.

Unfortunately for you, Parvati's request for explanation was rhetorical. You blinked and she was gone. Probably holed up tight in her room, or perhaps hunkered down on the other side of the known universe. Wherever she is, you know she's as far away as she can feasibly get in a hurry.

Having returned to more familiar territory, you take a moment to note that the vicar hasn't moved from where he stood. Moreover, he is staring at you....expectantly? With maybe 10% less murderface? You're too jittery to really read what's going on there.

All of a sudden you're exhausted, and you decide to take a calculated risk. Deliberately avoiding eye contact, you intone, "You can have first shower." You turn around and walk away slowly, trying not to shake from the rapidly receding adrenaline.

"Captain..." tries Max.

"No," you reply. You do not look back. Tomorrow You can deal with Tomorrow Him, if he's even still aboard in the morning.

Right now, you're not sure if you want him to be.

* * *

You notice the tiny flicker of a migraine aura in your peripheral vision.

You ask ADA to lock your door and cut the lights. You pray silently that your cabin even has a working lock; you'd never previously had the desire to use one.

"Of course, Captain. Is everything all right?"

It's obvious that everything is not all right. You ignore both the question and the tone of concern in her voice as you crawl into bed fully clothed, shove in Name Brand™ earplugs and try not to cry.

You cry a lot.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: depression but it's treated and mostly under control

Disappointingly, you wake up. You find yourself fully clothed and sticky (and not in the fun way.) After inhaling a can of water, you consider your next course of action.

Maybe Max already spared you the emotional agony of Needing To Talk (or physical agony of beating you until you couldn't) by leaving sometime during the night. Maybe he already found another ship to ferry him to Scylla. Maybe he'll move in with the hermit and they'll live happily ever after. Who could say? For all you know he threw the journal off a cliff and skipped town to join a traveling space circus (wait... are traveling space circuses a thing?)

You sigh. None of these are particularly likely, you conclude.

After all, you can fucking read French.

* * *

You gather up a set of fresh clothes and carefully poke your head out into the corridor, peering left and right. The Unreliable is suspiciously quiet. Not a good sign. You tiptoe over towards the shower, hoping no-one will notice you're up and abo...

"Good morning, Captain!!" exclaims ADA brightly. And LOUDLY. You wince.

"Shhhh, ADA!!" you hiss. "I'm not here!!" 

"I see," ADA replies, sotto voce. She continues, speaking stridently to the air. "Crewmember Max has requested that all unaccounted-for captains be verbally advised. He says he is waiting in the galley."

Goddamnit.

* * *

You thought you were a halfway decent ship captain, all things considered. You were even sort of proud of that. Though you still couldn't wrap your head around _losing 70 years_ , you counted yourself lucky in some ways to have finally stumbled into a career which suited you. You had people whom you were responsible for, whom you cared for. Who maybe even cared for you. You had no lack of interesting problems to solve, and the stakes of not solving them had never been higher. In short, you were Invested in this job (and this crew) with a capital I.

You had performed...adequately...in your previous roles back on Earth, but you were never first (or even second) in line for advancement. Most of the time your heart simply _wasn't in it_ , and if your heart wasn't in it, no amount of self-flagellation or anxiety could seem to improve the outcome of your yearly performance review. It turned out that you couldn't help it; that's just the way your brain works.

It had taken you a long, long, LONG time (and small prescription doses of amphetamines) to figure out that maybe, just maybe, you didn't simply suck at everything.

Most of the time you can remember that nowadays, but there are still days you come up unconvinced. You can tell that today is going to be one of them.

You strip and turn on the shower. Steam billows around the room, indifferently fogging up the mirror.

* * *

Captain or no, there is one thing you've always been great at: procrastinating awkward, long-overdue conversations. You've had lots of practice, you muse.

You press your forehead against the metal wall of the shower and steel yourself to shut off the hot water. 

* * *

You emerge from the bathroom, fresh-faced and ready to meet your doom.

But first, coffee. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The morning after.

Spacer's Choice Lesscafé™, now with extra freeze-dried chicory analogue! It's not the best choice, but it's certainly a choice.

You'd stopped buying the good stuff as soon as you discovered you'd need to save up 10,000 bits for a Stellar Bay navkey. Though you eventually managed to fork over the astronomical sum to Gladys, picking up two additional crew on Groundbreaker severely compressed the Unreliable's already razor-thin operating margins. In lieu of headcount reductions, Lesscafé™ it is.

At least you don't have to pay for creamer. Thanks, woolly cows.

Back turned to Max, you studiously ignore him as you stir a level scoop of fine grained, russet colored crystals into a steaming mug of water. Nothing, not even an ordained homicidal maniac, is going to get between you and your morning coffee. This is non-negotiable, and your crew is well aware. You silently dare Max to try you.

You turn around and set your mug down on the galley table, taking a seat directly across from the vicar. You stare down into your mug for a moment before you lift your head and meet his gaze.

"Bonjour, Captain." He deadpans sarcastically.

He's clearly still angry, but the murderface intensity has dialed back several notches. In fact...you take a longer look at him and blink. That's odd. He mostly looks like... like a tired, middle-aged man who hasn't slept well. He is slightly hunched over, and there are deep bags under his eyes. And this is definitely the first time you've seen him with bedhead in public. Maybe the first time anyone has.

"Ok," you say. "Talk."

"First of all, Captain, what the actual fuck." You didn't know it was possible for someone to sound both angry and utterly exhausted simultaneously.

"I could ask you the same thing," you retort.

"You lied to me." 

"And you beat a guy so badly he's still eating from a tube. Two guys, maybe, now. But who's counting."

"And then you ran."

"Yes, because I _fucking well enjoy not having a feeding tube_. Maybe that was in your Architect's Plan but it sure as hell wasn't in mine."

He opens his mouth and then closes it. He looks genuinely puzzled for a moment. You didn't know his face could do that. His voice goes soft. "You thought I was going to beat _you_?"

"Um, no shit??"

His face does the puzzled thing again. His head even tilts slightly. It's actually kind of cute, albeit uncanny. "But you... But us... After everything we-" 

"I too am violently enthusiastic," you interrupt. "I am violently enthusiastic about puppies. I am violently enthusiastic about caffeinated beverages. When someone says they are 'violently enthusiastic', it is not obvious code for ' _my secret hobby is beating people nearly to death for funsies.''_ "

Max sighs. "What happened to Lem was a long time ago, and prison wasn't a particularly favorable environment for bloodless conflict resolution. As for Chaney, he had it coming, though perhaps not to that extent. You, however...I would never even consider..."

"How exactly am I supposed to know where you draw the line, Max? Quite frankly, you scared the shit out of me yesterday. And that's on top of lying to me for months about a fucking translator."

"I apologize, Captain. And I appreciate your intervention with Chaney. I admit that my reaction was excessive. For what it's worth, it's been a long time since I... Well." He looks down at his scabbed-over knuckles. "I am sorry for frightening you."

"You lie to me again, Max, and you're out of this crew."

"Understood, Captain." He looks....relieved? He stands up from the table and starts to head for his quarters. This is not at all how you expected this conversation to go.

Max suddenly pauses and turns his head back towards you, "There's one thing I don't quite understand," he says.

"Yeah?"

"I know you were doing what you had to do to get me off Chaney, but how in Halcyon did you come up with the idea to tell me you knew French? You've always been a shit liar, but I very nearly believed you yesterday."

Damn it.

Your gaze returns to your coffee, now gone tepid. "Because it's true," you admit quietly.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're not done here.

Max storms off to his room, presumably to pack his things and march directly off the ship, never to be seen or heard from again. Well, that could have gone better. Oh well. You gulp and try not to think of how much you'll mi-

He thunders back into the kitchen, Bakonu's journal under one arm. He slams it on the table and begins to slide it across to you before thinking better of it, pulling the book back just out of your reach. For a brief, insane moment you consider "accidentally" dumping the last of your coffee on it. While you expect that it probably wouldn't make this conversation any harder, you know that it definitely wouldn't make it any easier. 

Max crosses his arms, leans back and glares at you with the fury of a thousand dying suns.

"Let's start over, shall we? We need to talk, Captain."

* * *

The facts were these: neither you nor any of your crew had particularly healthy coping mechanisms.

Max preferred to beat the shit out of his problems until they ceased to be problems. Or simply ceased to be at all. When he lacked opportunities for physical retribution, he made up for it by beating himself up internally instead. It didn't help, but it was clearly what he deserved for not being able to calmly accept his place in the Plan. Or so he thought.

Parvati's tried and true method was to shove her feelings deep down inside and ignore them until they went away. They usually didn't, but that didn't stop her from trying.

Nyoka drank, and drank, and drank. Then she woke up and drank some more.

Ellie laughed everything off, pretending not to care. It sometimes worked, or at least appeared to. Sort of.

Felix was largely unaware that he had any problems at all. So, there was that.

You'd always preferred to flee, but that was much easier back when you had nothing to lose. Like this...thing...with Max. Whatever it is, it makes you want to try to figure things out with him. Along with the rest of your weird little found family.

Besides, assuming you still want to save your frozen friendsicles aboard the Hope, there's nowhere for you to go.

* * *

Maybe there's hope, at least for some of you.

Last night was the first time you'd seen Parvati hide away like that in a good, long while. After helping her get together with her girlfriend, she's become much more... Balanced. Happy, even? She started sharing meals with the crew, and seems more comfortable hanging out in the common areas of the ship. She's stopped apologizing for merely taking up space. You have the feeling that even if things don't work out in the end with Junlei, Parvati is going to be ok.

You were horrified by the visit to Ellie's shitty parents, but meeting them answered questions you didn't even realize you had about her. She deserved better, you told her. Repeatedly. After helping her commit minor insurance fraud, she began to consider the possibility that your overtures of friendship might be sincere.

Felix was disappointed (and more than a little confused) by the betrayal of his old friend. He's a little less bright-eyed and bushy tailed these days, but also a little less naïve. That's probably for the best.

* * *

Unfortunately, you couldn't help everyone.

The third time Ellie treated Nyoka for alcohol poisoning, you were done. You locked up all the booze, waited till the next morning, and gave her a choice. She could continue to crew with you on a dry ship, head to Groundbreaker to see if they had anything resembling rehab, or you could drop her back off on Monarch. She could drink on her own time, you explained, but you refused to continue enabling her self-destruction under your roof.

Nyoka left.

You hadn't known what else to do.

* * *

Max's brow crinkles at you in utter disbelief. He uncrosses his arms and pounds on the table with an open palm for emphasis.

"You. Fucking. Knew. French. This. Entire. Fucking. Time."

Upon seeing you jump, he folds his hands in his lap, looking a little sheepish. You attempt to bring your shoulders back down from around your ears as you respond to the mug in your hands.

"That about sums it up, yeah. I studied it in college. Which, I might add in my defense, was a _while_ ago."

"Why in the name of the LAW didn't you tell me?!"

"You never asked?" you suggest hopefully, looking up at him.

Max's frown deepens.

"Ok, ok. Honestly... I don't entirely know? I was under the assumption that if you asked me to find a book in French, that you'd be able to read said book. When you got so freaking pissed off about it, you threw me for a loop. I... forgot for a second? And then I was too embarrassed to admit it."

"I see. But why would you not tell me later? We've been traveling together for months." He emphasizes the word _traveling_. You wince.

He certainly has a point. You pause. There are several ways you can answer this. You decide not to go with "so, I guess we're not fucking...er...traveling anymore?"

You consider.

"At first, I didn't think it would be that big of a deal to find someone else who knows French. Or like, a computer or something. I mean, we're living in the _future_ , Max. At least I am. I figured someone would have worked that shit out by now. French isn't rocket science, and we seem to have that pretty well under control." Your mind jumps to the Hope. "Mostly."

"I don't doubt that that technology exists elsewhere," says Max. "But English is the only officially sanctioned language of the Halcyon Colony. It was deemed more efficient by the Board to abrogate the use of all other languages."

Well, that certainly explains a few things. Maybe even the lack of good tacos here.

"Once I realized that the search was going to take more than a day or two, I really did intend to tell you. I just kept putting it off."

"Why?"

" I just.. at first, you seemed so damned angry all the time. I wasn't sure if you were going to turn around and direct that at me. Later on... Whenever we were alone, you seemed happiest when we were talking about literally anything besides the book. I didn't want to ruin that, either for you, or for me. I know that sounds selfish." 

"Indeed. It is," concedes Max. "However, I am not entirely without blame. I used you to get to Chaney, and kept the truth from you for months. I can't say that I didn't also become increasingly concerned regarding how your perception of the situation might affect... Well."

"Yeah."

He scowls thoughtfully, and then a tiny bit of hope creeps in. "Do you... Do you think you can translate the journal?" 

"I honestly don't know," you admit. "I was nearly fluent, but that was twelve years ago. I'm not sure how much I'll be able to remember." 

"You certainly know more than anyone else I've encountered in this sprat-fucked colony." A corner of his mouth twitches up.

You take a deep breath. "I can't promise anything other than that I'll give it my best shot. But I'll try. I'm gonna need the good coffee, though."

Another corner twitches up, and by some miracle he's actually _smiling_ at you.

"Deal." 

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this idea (that the Captain knew French all along, at least to some degree), feel free to take it and run with it!


End file.
